


Ten Drinks, Two Idiots, and One Confession

by quiettewandering



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-typical Alcohol Consumption, Castiel takes charge of the whole damn show and dean has troubles with his feelings, Drunk Castiel, Drunk Dean, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, Humor, M/M, but no drunk sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 13:45:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7465677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiettewandering/pseuds/quiettewandering
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Cas….Hey, CAS,” Dean says emphatically, propping his heavy body against Castiel’s shoulder with his eyes wide.</p><p>Castiel grips both sides of Dean’s face, shaking him out of his stupor. “What, Dean?”</p><p>Dean lets out a huff, the sharp tang of liquor hitting Castiel’s face. “Your eyes are pretty,” he complains.</p><p> </p><p>Or, a good old-fashioned-hooking-up-but-not-really-quite-hooking-up-through-copious-amounts-of-alcohol-story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten Drinks, Two Idiots, and One Confession

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [Corey](https://mishashoneybee.tumblr.com) and [Zoe](https://bittyybee.tumblr.com) for their amazing beta-ing skills and words of encouragement. <3
> 
> Now for my very self-indulgent fic that I wrote to take a break from procrastinating all the Big Bang drafts I am supposed to be writing.

The hunt could have gone better.

Sam had been tossed against a wall and broke his leg, the poltergeist killed the father of the family it had been haunting. Cas’s appearance at the end of the hunt and smiting the little ghost bastard to eternity was what saved everyone’s asses.

Not to mention the house was wrecked a million ways to Sunday and Dean was sixty percent positive he was suffering from a concussion.

So, yeah, the hunt could have gone better.

Dean tucks a complaining Sam in for the night after a hospital visit, barking at him to stay in the bed while the swelling in his leg goes down. Sam stares after him with a full-blown moose pout as Dean exits the hotel room in search of reprieve at a dimly-lit bar.

Dean can’t wait to be alone with he, himself, and a stiff drink in his hand. Upon arriving at the Impala, he hears the soft flutter of wings and feet touching down behind him.

No such luck on that alone time.

He doesn’t turn to acknowledge him. “What, Cas?” he grunts, fumbling for his keys in his jacket pocket.

“I assume you are leaving in search of liquor?”

Dean yanks open the driver’s door. He turns his head. Castiel has dark circles under his eyes and his shirt collar is bent the wrong way over a stained blue tie.

“What’s it to you?”

“I wish to accompany you.”

“Thought you couldn’t get drunk,” Dean retorts.

“My borrowed and dying grace lowers my tolerance to alcohol.”

Drinking with a rebel angel is not what Dean had in mind for the night, but it could be… fun? Who knows what nearly-human Cas became after a couple of drinks. If anything, it’ll probably be amusing enough that Dean will forget his awful day.

Dean nods sharply, thumb gesturing to the passenger seat. “Well, get in, then. A few drinks can’t hurt.”

 

* * *

 

To be more precise, a "few drinks" that Dean plans on drinking turns into ten.

 

**1**

Dean scoffs at Castiel hesitantly sniffing the bourbon in his hand.

“Dude, have you forgotten what to do with liquids? Drink it.” He demonstrates by tipping his head back and chasing his own liquor down in one gulp. Years of borderline alcoholism dictated that his body would have no adverse reaction to the alcohol. Slamming it on the counter, he proclaims, “That’s how you do that.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow at Dean before politely sipping the amber bourbon. He grimaces at the taste.

“Let’s get another one,” Dean says. “Second one’s always better.”

 

**2**

“The second one is _not_ better,” Castiel insists, pushing his glass away with a sullen gaze.

Dean claps Cas’s back between the shoulder blades, grinning at him. They both resolutely ignore the way Dean’s hand lingers a moment too long against Castiel’s coat. “Hey, don’t worry, buddy. It just gets better and better.”

Castiel nods his assent as Dean waves his hand at the bartender for another.

 

**3**

“You lied,” Castiel accuses Dean, leaning against the counter with a pout.

Dean orders another drink and steers Castiel away from the bar counter. “Look, Cas, darts,” he says. “You like playing this.”

Castiel sways only slightly on his feet as he squints at the dartboard. “It’ll be more of a challenge if I have another drink,” he decides.

“Yeah, that’s the spirit!” Dean whoops, shoving his drink into Castiel’s hand and jogging back to the bar to get another one of his own.

 

**4**

Castiel hits a woman’s purse, the chipped photograph of a scantily nude woman on a motorcycle, and narrowly misses a heavy-set man’s caterpillar mustache before finally hitting the dartboard.

“Damnit Cas, you’re more of a lightweight than I thought,” Dean huffs, scratching the back of his neck.

Castiel stares at his feet, frowning. “I feel strange.”

“Another drink will fix that.”

 

**5**

“Dean, what is your opinion on Solon’s fight against moral decay in Athens?”

“Huh?”

“I consider him to be the godfather of Greek democracy, don’t you?”

“Cas, what in the hell are you on about?”

“Greece is not as it was in the 400s.”

“It’s 2016, buddy. We’re not in ancient Greece anymore.”

“Oh. We’re not? That’s too bad. I apologize, Dean, I forgot.”

“How many have you had?”

“Including the one I am about to drink, six.”

“You _are_ a lightweight, angel.”

 

**6**

Dean takes no responsibility for what occurs after his sixth drink.

He knows that he is nearing his limit; he’s walking past the point of danger. The point where feelings come out, flirty, handsy Dean-who-fucks-anything-that-moves rears his ugly head, and acts recklessly, following wherever the spirit moves him.

That’s why he can’t be held responsible for getting really, really handsy with Cas.

It starts with him knocking his knees against Castiel’s while they’re sitting on their barstools. Then he starts grasping his shoulder--a lot--for no clear reason, rubbing his back when the situation definitely doesn’t call for it.

Castiel fails to help the situation when he _leans_ into all of Dean’s bold touches.

“Cas….Hey, CAS,” Dean says emphatically, propping his heavy body against Castiel’s shoulder with his eyes wide.

Castiel grips both sides of Dean’s face, shaking him out of his stupor. “What, Dean?”

Dean lets out a huff, the sharp tang of liquor hitting Castiel’s face. “Your eyes are _pretty_ ,” he whines.

Castiel looks straight into his eyes then laughs loudly. “No, your eyes are far superior,” Castiel argues, patting at Dean’s cheeks. He grins at himself. “Superior is a funny word.”

“Isn’t it?” Dean laughs.

“Enochian is far sup...erior.”

“Soupy...er.”

“Sup...per”

“Supper!” Dean throws his hands in the air and lands both his hands on Cas’s shoulders. “We should get supper.”

Their bartender seems to fight against a dramatic eye roll as they order two cheeseburgers with stutters and inane giggling at each other’s pronunciations.

 

**7**

“Dean? We’re friends, right?” asks Castiel as they chew on their burgers.

“Duh, Cas,” he replies, slamming down his burger for emphasis. The limp lettuce flops out from the bun and falls to the counter. Good riddance, he hates green things anyway. “What the hell do you ask that for?”

“We haven’t… talked recently,” Castiel confesses to the remainder of his soggy french fries.

“Well, we had a lot on our plates, ya know? Your old man coming back from out of nowhere, the Darkness, Mom coming back from the freakin’ dead and having to set her up with Jody and try to convince her not to hunt anymore… There wasn’t exactly time to ‘hang out’.”

Castiel frowns. “So you haven’t been avoiding me?”

“‘Course not, Cas.” He grasps his friend’s shoulder, tilting his head way too close to Cas’s. “You’re my best friend. Nothing will change that.”

Castiel seems to brighten at that.

Everything is fine until they start playing pool. All Dean can do is stare at Cas’s ass peeking out from underneath his trench coat as he leans way too far over to aim his cue.

 

**8**

Dean pounds the table with his fist. They had moved from the counter to a dark corner of the bar, away from rowdy lacrosse players that had arrived. “Cas, I’m going to say something.”

Castiel nods gravely as he slurps a rum and coke through a straw. He proclaimed minutes ago that drinking from the rim required too fine of motor skills. “Tell me, Dean.”

“You have a nice butt.” He stares at his fingers curled onto the table, eyes squinted. “Wait, that’s not what I meant.”

“Please go on.”

“Um.” Dean coughs to hide his drunken burp. “Well. I dunno if I’d be saying this… sober. But you’re….” His head sloshes back and forth like his brain is overflowing with alcohol as well as his stomach. “I… um… you’re nice.”

“You’re nice too, Dean.”

“Like, really nice.”

It’s as if Castiel has developed better social skills with each drink. He scoots closer to Dean and grips his arm tightly. “Come to the bathroom with me.”

“Like a we’re a bunch of girls?” Dean all but cries out.

Castiel stands cautiously, pulling at Dean’s jacket for him to follow. “Come with me.”

Dean tips back a shot of rum, most of it missing his mouth, and stumbles after Castiel.

 

**9**

The bathroom is empty. The fluorescent neon lights are a harsh contrast to the dimly lit bar. For a beat, Castiel and Dean just stare at each other.

“Look, Cas…” Dean scrubs his face with an unsteady hand. “Drunk or sober, I don’t know how to do this.”

“You mean use the facilities?”

“No, smart-ass.” He makes an awkward movement between them. “This. What are we doin’, man?”

Castiel steps forward into his space. Dean can’t help it; his eyes flicker down to Castiel’s lips. “What are you doin’, Cas?” he asks hoarsely.

“I just…” For one of the first times that Dean has known him, Castiel seems to falter. He reaches out to Dean and takes his wrist in a loose grip. “Dean, I have feelings for you.”

His brash confession makes Dean feel a blush creeping up his ears. “Oh.”

“You don’t have to return them. I just thought--”

Before his brain can catch up with his face, Dean is crushing his lips into Castiel’s in an inelegant kiss. He tastes like rum and coke and sweat. Dean has never tasted anything better. Castiel presses against Dean’s chest with a satisfied hum.

“Wanna get out of here?” Dean asks huskily. “Sammy’s in our room...we can go...to another motel?”

“Yes,” is all Castiel has to say before Dean is swinging open the bathroom door and stalking out of the bar, Castiel in tow. He downs the last of his untouched tequila shot (no judging, he told the bartender when he ordered it) for courage before exiting the bar with Castiel.

 

**10**

“Holy _shit_ … Cas…”

Dean’s body is shivering--from being drunk or arousal or nerves or all three, he’s not sure--as Castiel rocks his hips into Dean’s, thumbs looped into the waistband of Dean’s jeans, shoving him against the motel door as he kisses Dean enthusiastically up and down his neck.

“This is a bad idea,” he hears Castiel rumble against his skin.

If it’s even possible, Dean gets harder at the sound of his gravelly voice. “‘S’not…” he manages, breath hitching as Castiel’s hand ghosts over his crotch, his toes curling with anticipation when he feels Castiel’s warm and heavy breath against his ear, “...this isn’t...it’s not just tonight….” Dean ducks his head against Castiel’s shoulder and whispers, a hesitant confession, against his rumpled dress shirt, “I want you every night, Cas…”

When Dean raises his eyes, he sees his angel’s wide eyes, his pupils blown, staring at Dean incredulously. Dean is about to apologize, it’s all from his stupid drunken haze, what the fuck was he saying, sorry--

Until a deep, animalistic growl comes from Castiel as he turns Dean around and shoves him onto the bed, jumping on him straight after.

Dean’s senses are overloaded as Castiel worships every inch of his body with his hands, lips, tongue, and fingertips. His ears pound with the sounds of their heavy breathing in the otherwise quiet room, the rush of blood roaring in his ears as it all flies straight to his dick.

He closes his eyes because he can’t even handle the room spinning or the image of Castiel kissing him within an inch of his life.

Dean can feel himself slip into a sleepy stupor. He likes Castiel’s warm body on him as he drifts to sleep. “Stay,” he hears himself whisper into the dark.

He feels something stroking his hair back from his face. “Goodnight, Dean.”

 

**-10**

Sunlight assaults Dean as he cracks open an eye to observe his surroundings.

Standard motel room with drab brown curtains and stained wallpaper: normal.

Fuzzy feeling in his mouth and head: normal.

Naked shoulder blade of one-night stand looming in his vision, back facing him: normal.

A messy, short, dark mop of hair on the head attached to that naked shoulder which Dean is now noticing is much too broad to be a female’s… not normal.

The naked shoulder turns and disappears into the sheets as the person faces Dean. Alarms in his head blare as he sees Castiel’s half-lidded eyes raking over his body, a lazy smile painted onto his face.

_Not normal not normal not normal--_

Castiel raises a hand and brushes a strand of hair from Dean’s eyes. “Good morning,” he murmurs.

“Hi,” Dean strangles out.

Castiel frowns, sensing Dean’s distress. “Dean, don’t panic.”

“I’m--not--uh... Cas, what the hell you doing in my bed?” Despite Cas’s instructions, he is _definitely_ panicking, ready to bolt the hell out of that room.

Castiel cups a hand to Dean’s cheek. He is Dean’s counterpart: calm and collected, soft and pliant against Dean’s tense body. “It’ll take a moment for you to remember,” he says.

Remember _what_? Dean’s brain demands.

Oh.

Drinking, a lot--Castiel--arousal--motel room--bed--barely missing the rim of the toilet as he launches his ten drinks out of his body--

 _Shit_.

“We…” Dean licks moisture back into his lips. “We, um…”

"We only “made out”, as humans call it,” Castiel supplies, his fingers trailing up and down Dean’s arm. His lips curl into a grin. “You were very good at it, until you ran to throw up in the bathroom.”

“Pure instinct, angel,” Dean croaks back, his flirting also based on pure instinct. “Just wait ‘till you see what I’m like sober.”

Castiel takes that as an invitation to circle his arms around Dean’s shoulders, holding him tight to his bare and warm chest. “I will wait until you are ready,” he promises with a chaste kiss to Dean’s brow.

There’s a moment of silence, heavy with buzzing thoughts between the two of them, before Dean speaks. “Cas, I’m not gonna lie. I’m freaked out. But… I meant everything I said, you know.”

“I know, Dean.”

He presses his nose into Castiel’s skin, deeply breathing him in. “Okay, good.”

Castiel shakes under Dean as he chuckles, “I knew that eventually you’d admit your feelings for me under the influence of alcohol.”

“Hey, now.” Dean doesn’t bother to lift his head as he swats at Castiel’s face half-heartedly.

“Dean, you should know--I meant everything I said as well. I want you every night, too.”

He sees Castiel’s dark blue eyes treasuring him, as if he’s the best thing in the world to see when waking up. Dean thinks that’s what does him in, causes him to rally against the hangover creeping in and the fear that comes from his heterosexuality quickly retreating into the distance.

He rises to his knees, leaning down to kiss Castiel on his lips, praying that he had the frame of mind to wash out his mouth last night after upchucking the contents of his stomach.

Castiel doesn’t seem to mind. He lets out a moan, hands clenching Dean’s hips, his thumbs stroking comforting circles into his bare skin. “Oh, Dean,” he whispers when they retreat for air. “We can take it slow. You don’t need--”

“Shut up, Cas, I’m a grown man, I know what I want.” He catches Castiel’s bottom lip with his tip, lightly biting until he hears Castiel gasp. He leans back enough to give Castiel a heavy gaze. “And I want you.”

A replay of last night occurs: Castiel is immediately on him, hand twisted into Dean’s hair, kissing him like the apocalypse would kill them tomorrow. He flips Dean over onto his back, trailing his tongue and lips down Dean’s neck, to his collarbone, across his chest as Dean huffs shallow breaths all the while.

“You can’t say things like that,” Castiel growls as he bites and teases Dean’s nipples until Dean’s a quivering mess. “You don’t know what it does to me.”

Through his haze of arousal, Dean smirks, lifting Castiel’s head with a palm to his cheek. “I want you, angel, and no one else,” he says with a roll of his hips against Castiel’s.

Castiel groans and closes his eyes against the tide of emotion he was undoubtedly feeling. “Dean…”

“I want you to stay, Cas. For a long time. Forever, if you want it.”

Castiel begins kisses at Dean’s chest, biting and licking his skin. “God, yes, I will…”

“Wake me up with coffee every morning.” Dean pauses to gasp at Castiel’s fingers trailing down to his boxer’s waistband. “Sleep next to me every night.” He shudders at his next breath and whispers, “Take care of me, okay?”

The confession hangs in the air. Dean has spent all his life taking care of people: Sam, innocent people on hunts, the whole world during an impending apocalypse. It takes a full night of drinking with Cas and a fuzzy hangover to break his walls down, but there it is. Dean wants Castiel to be the one he can be vulnerable to, to ask things when he wouldn’t dare ask anyone else, to be cared for by him.

Castiel pushes himself up to stare at him. Dean has to flicker his eyes away from Castiel’s; there’s too much emotion in them to process. “I will always take care of you, Dean,” he hears him say from above.

Dean meets his eye again with a soft smile. “Will you take care of me now, angel?”

In response, Castiel brushes a thumb against Dean’s cheek before slowly removing off the remainder of their clothes, tantalizingly slow.

Dean’s breath stays lodged with a lump in his throat as Castiel takes his length into his warm hand. A happy sigh escapes his lips as he feels Castiel’s hand grip tight and expertly pump up and down, from the tip to the base. His angel has done this before. Probably to himself, countless times. The thought makes him shudder and curl his toes against the scratchy sheets.

“Cas,” he groans, hips bucking into the air instinctually. Damnit, he’s already close to a climax, it’s just Cas’s body is beyond any fantasy he’s dared to think up, and he’s never relinquished control to somebody like this and he loves it--

“Dean, I said I would take care of you,” Cas interrupts, lightly kissing his erratic pulse on his neck. “Do you trust me?”

Dean nods. He can’t suppress the moan that escapes his lips as Cas thumbs the head of his leaking dick. “I trust you, Cas.”

Castiel lines Dean’s neck and collarbone with careful kisses as he sinks down. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

“If what--” Dean stutters a gasp as he feels the wet heat of Castiel’s breath on the inside of his thighs. “ _Cas_.”

“Is it okay, Dean?” Castiel hums as he carefully licks at Dean's= clenched balls.

“ _Goddammit_ ,” Dean hisses as he feels Cas’s cheek rub gently against his dick. “Keep going, Cas, I’m--” His words are stuttered to a stop as Cas suddenly swallows him down. He feels the wet heat of Castiel’s mouth enveloping him. firm lips sliding up and down his hard length. His hands scramble for purchase at the sheets as Castiel quickens his pace, his hand pumping where his mouth doesn’t fit. Dean tilts his head back, completely unaware of himself, to make an obscene moan to the ceiling as he felt Castiel’s tongue making firm circles against the head of his dick while his cheeks hollow out.

As Dean feels his body clenching, ready to burst into Cas’s mouth, he gasps, “Wait, Cas… want to come with you.”

Castiel hums his assent, making Dean nearly lose it right then and there, mouth popping off Dean’s dick. Castiel looks at it fondly and runs his thumb over the head. He smiles up at Dean, eyes glittering in the morning light. “You’re beautiful, Dean.”

And okay, Dean will definitely not last much longer with Castiel’s amazing mouth saying and doing things that drive him absolutely crazy. He grabs Castiel by the back of his neck and brings him back up to his lips. Dean runs his tongue against Castiel’s lips, tasting himself.

“You’re too hot,” Dean complains as he rubs his own hand against Castiel’s dick. “I’m not going to last this, Cas.”

“It’s all right. I will take care of you,” he hears Cas whisper into his ear as he presses his own erection onto Dean’s, taking them both in hand, sliding them together. Dean feels the wetness from Castiel’s mouth make them slick together.

Their breath becomes more erratic as Castiel brings them toward climax. Dean buries his face into Castiel’s shoulder, threading his fingers through his dark hair, wanting touch in every way he can get it. He feels Castiel’s other hand trail to the back of his ass. “Cas!” he bites out as Castiel’s fingers ghost his hole.

Castiel chuckles and Dean thinks he says, “Another time, then,” but he’s not sure, because his vision whites out as he feels his abdomen tighten and spouting his release across both their bodies.

Dean looks up to stare at Castiel. His eyes looked as wide as Dean’s. He hears Castiel murmur “Dean,” just as he feels Castiel’s body go taut like a string snapped to attention beneath him, shudders as Castiel’s hot cum splash against his chest.

Dean stares up at his angel, finally taking him in, the desperate chase of his orgasm behind him. Castiel is knelt over him, both hands splayed on either of Dean’s sides on the bed. His skin is shining with sweat, a few strands of his hair matted to his brow. His chest heaves from the exercise. His eyes are a brighter blue than he’s ever seen them.

“Damn,” Dean breathes out for lack of anything else to say.

“Agreed,” Castiel grunts, falling down onto Dean’s body. They lay in silence, attempting to catch their breath. Dean feels at peace.

“Cas.”

Castiel grunts a reply.

“What do you think Sammy’s face is gonna look like when we tell him every dirty detail about how this happened?”

Castiel runs the tips of his fingers through Dean’s hair. “I suspect not surprised at all."

Dean's cheeks heat with a blush as Cas adds musingly, "Although I do owe him a trip to Greece, now.”

**Author's Note:**

> ~~Guys this is my first time writing smut so please when commenting be careful with my fragile heart~~
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> Thank you so much for reading, let me know what you thought in the comments or message me [on my tumblr](https://quiettewandering.tumblr.com)!


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